


The Turning of the Year

by VR_Trakowski



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, have I done this before? I have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VR_Trakowski/pseuds/VR_Trakowski
Summary: One by one, he gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly and tapping them to even the edges.  Then he detoured around the long sofa to crouch in front of the fire, and fed the sheets to the flames.Bits of his own handwriting flared up, quick glimpses as the paper burned away.  Rey - miss you - beloved - it’s not - please.Please.Ben thinks he's ruined everything.  Rey has a different opinion.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	The Turning of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> This is my version of a songfic, which is to say it's based on Gordon Lightfoot's _Song for a Winter's Night_. Admittedly I _have_ done this before, but it was thirteen years ago...

_“Ben.”_

The word was more silent than the snow, as much an illusion as the reflection in the darkened window. A tiny glow of light from the dim lamp was all he could make out; he was a shadow, a blur of shape. Undefined. 

_I could be a ghost._

But no, he was the haunted one. Rey’s voice, saying his name in that soft tone that she used for no one else; it spoke from memory as if to call him back to the past. 

Ben stared at the image in the living-room window until his eyes watered, then rubbed them dry and refocused. Snow brushed against the glass, barely visible - faint flecks of white in the darkness. 

The silence pressed in, until he could be the only person left in the world. 

_It’s your own fault._

The little antique table he used as a desk was littered with sheets of paper, all bearing half-composed messages that tailed off in the middle of sentences. _All useless._ Try as he might, he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her. 

_You don’t deserve her._

But that had always been true. Even when he’d _had_ her. 

Ben took a swallow from the glass that weighted several aborted letters. The alcohol had been intended to give him courage, but it didn’t seem to be working. He flexed his toes against the chill creeping through the room, and rose to cross to the fireplace and add another chunk of oak. 

Rey had loved the fireplace. She had lit fires there year-round, curling up in front of them on the hearthrug to watch the flames dance, and he could see her in his mind’s eye; holding out a hand to draw him down next to her, sighing happily when he obliged. 

Lighting a fire now seemed almost an act of masochism; she was all but visible, as if he could press his eyes nearly shut and see her through his lashes, mesmerized by the flickering light. 

But he’d laid the wood anyway, crumpling paper with deliberate care, touching it off and watching the line of light creep and flare and catch. Maybe he was trying to punish himself. 

_It wouldn’t be the first time._

Ben went back to his chair and settled in, taking another sip and knowing it wouldn’t help him sleep either. His gaze caught on the other letter half-hidden beneath his efforts, creased and a little grubby now. 

Slowly, reluctantly, he tugged it out, even though he knew it by heart. But wasn’t it part of his punishment, to read it yet again? 

Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. His gaze skimmed down the cramped handwriting instead, catching on a phrase here and there. 

_Ben, love_

_can’t bear it any longer_

_you can’t see, he’s poisoning you_

_better to make it clean_

Part of him was still surprised that he’d kept the letter. The fury and pain when he’d found it, and found her _gone,_ had been so great that he’d broken six dishes and a picture frame before the haze had lifted. In retrospect, the burst of violence had made Rey’s point for her...but it had been months before Ben had been able to accept it. 

_Do you miss me, love?_

It would be better if she didn’t. He knew that. But he couldn’t help wishing, selfishly, that she thought of him sometimes - a little wistfully, perhaps. He didn’t want her to suffer the echoing emptiness that plagued him, the utter _lack_ , but...maybe she felt a pang or two. 

If only he could go _back_ , warn himself, say _don’t do it, don’t accept the job, you’ll drive away everyone you love._

_You’ll lose Rey._

Memories bubbled up, and instead of shoving them back down, Ben indulged himself. The moment they’d met, Rey’s firm handshake and that devastating grin; her bright-eyed look when she’d asked him out; the first time they’d laced fingers across a table, and the brush of her callouses when he’d kissed her palm. He loved her hands. He loved all of her, so much. 

It hurt like hell, but the bitter held a trace of sweet. At least he could remember - 

_Don’t lie to yourself._

Forgetting would be easier. If he could push the memories out and leave his heart as blank and barren as his life, at least he wouldn’t hurt any more. 

But he clutched them to him like a miser, knowing there would be no more - he could grow no richer. Only poorer, as what he held faded. 

Ben set the letter down carefully, ignoring the meticulously scripted lines on his own sheets. 

_Dear Rey_

_I’m so sorry_

_I’m done, I_

_I know I can’t_

_She might forgive you, someday._ Rey was kind like that. But now, in the depths of an icy night, he had to face the fact that he didn’t even have the right to ask for forgiveness. Let alone anything else. 

_You let working for Snoke turn you into an abusive asshole. No one in their right mind should come anywhere near you. And Rey is not stupid._

_You ruined it. You ruined everything, and this is what you deserve._

He sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows move in time with the fire. _Go to bed,_ Ben told himself, but he couldn’t find the energy to move. 

_There’s no point in fighting it._ He should suffer for what he’d done, and suffer he would. _Just get on with it._

One by one, he gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly and tapping them to even the edges. Then he detoured around the long sofa to crouch in front of the fire, and fed the sheets to the flames. 

Bits of his own handwriting flared up, quick glimpses as the paper burned away. _Rey - miss you - beloved - it’s not - please._

_Please._

_Please._

Ben dropped down to sit, wrapping his arms around his upthrust knees, and watched the fire turn all his begging to ash. 

* * *

“Ben.” 

The quiet voice brought him out of a long daze that was not quite unconsciousness. The fire was almost out; there was just enough light coming in the window to show the snow on the glass. 

His neck twinged when he lifted his head. Surely he’d been dreaming, to hear his name on her lips again - 

“Ben? Are you all right?” 

Rey stood just inside the doorway, looking tired in the dim light of the lamp, her long coat spotted with melted snow. Ben watched her cross the room with the calmness of someone mired in sleep. Of _course_ he was dreaming. There was no other reason for her to be there. 

She halted on the other side of the hearth. Ben stared up at her, rapt; she was more beautiful than ever, despite the wrinkles in her shirt and the wisps of hair escaping her chignon. _It won’t last,_ he told himself. _Any second you’ll wake up._

“You’re starting to freak me out.” Rey tugged at her coat, and a drop of meltwater lashed his cheek, a small shock of cold. 

He flinched. Flinched _awake_ , and yet she was still there - 

His mind went blank, too astonished to form a thought. Rey bit her lip. “I - I can go - “ 

_“No.”_ Ben lurched forward, stiff and ungainly, and landed on his knees, one hand bracing against the floor and the other reaching out. 

The clasp of both of hers over it, palm and fingers enveloped in sudden warmth, made his heart trip, pound, race back to life as if it had stopped the moment she left him, and maybe it had. _“Rey -“_

Her mouth curved hopefully, and she knelt on the rug, not letting him go. “I heard you quit your job,” she said softly. “If I’d known sooner - “ 

Ben shook his head, hard and harder, and rocked awkwardly back on his knees to cup his other hand around hers, hunched on the verge of toppling. _You came back,_ he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth all he could do was gasp. 

“Ben.” So gentle, that voice; so beloved. “It’s all right.” 

Something in him gave way, flooding out in a rush of joy and anguish, and he lost his balance entirely. But Rey’s hands were strong, catching him as he fell forward, and Ben wrapped his arms around her, pressed his face into her lap, and wept. 

There was nothing dignified about it; he cried like a lost child, each wracking sob tearing through muscle and nerve, soaking the front of Rey’s skirt. Her hands stroked through his hair and over his shoulders, again and again, and her touch was the only thing that was real, the only thing that mattered. 

_Rey._

He coughed and choked, muttering disjointed pleas into the wet fabric - _stay, please stay, don’t leave me -_ utterly without dignity or restraint. And by some miracle she didn’t pull away. 

She just held him. 

Eventually, slowly, the spasms tapered off, leaving him limp and dizzy and sore. Ben didn’t move, unwilling to shatter the little bubble of quiet that surrounded them, afraid that if he shifted Rey would stop the pass of her hands over his head and along his spine. 

But as his breathing calmed, she shifted to comb the wet hair back from his temple, and Ben opened one swollen eye, almost wincing as he looked up at her. 

“It’s all right,” she said again, the dimple he loved to kiss denting her cheek though her eyes were dark and serious. 

He shook his head and pushed his face into her skirt again, clutching her more tightly. “You’re - “ he started, but his voice caught, thick and still tear-laden. “Are you going to leave again?” 

Rey sighed, fingers tracing the rim of his ear. “That’s up to you. But we can talk about it later.” 

She slid her hands under his shoulders and lifted. “Come on. Let’s make you comfortable.” 

Rey helped him to his feet and coaxed him over to the couch, settling him at one end and snagging the throw from the back to wrap around his shoulders. “Back in a sec,” she murmured, heading for the kitchen, and Ben watched her anxiously, straining his ears when she disappeared from his sight. He didn’t _really_ think she would leave, but he couldn’t help waiting, tense with nerves, listening to water running and the thump of the refrigerator door. 

When she came back Rey had shed her coat and her shoes. She sat down next to him and handed him a glass of ice water, then reached for his chin. “Hold still.” 

The damp cloth was cool and soothing on his hot skin. Rey wiped his face clean of tears, then folded the cloth and pressed it lightly over his eyes. “Drink your water.” 

Ben sipped obediently; it _did_ taste good, easing his raw throat. He could sense her next to him, her knee pressed against his, and he’d...he’d forgotten how good it felt to be cared for. 

When he’d finished the water, she took the glass back, shifting as if to rise, and his free hand clenched in a sudden surge of panic. “Don’t go,” he managed. “Please.” 

“I’m not.” Her fingers closed around his fist, clasping gently before releasing him. “I just want to get out of these bloody hose.” 

That startled a laugh from him, just the barest puff of sound, and Rey chuckled. Ben heard her stand, and the rustle of fabric as she shed her nylons; and then she sat back down next to him, peeling the now-warm cloth away. 

All his shame returned in full force, and Ben dropped his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. The wondering joy fell to ashes, and he forced the words out. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

Rey’s brows pulled together. “Are you kicking me out?” 

Ben opened his mouth, but nothing emerged. He should tell her to leave, he _knew_ he should, but he could not force the words out. 

Rey huffed, rolling her eyes, then cupped his face in her hands. “Ben. Do you _want_ me to go?” 

Her gaze was as unavoidable as the truth. He shook his head minutely, and Rey’s mouth firmed. 

“Do you remember what I wrote when I left?” 

Remember? He couldn’t possibly _forget._ “Yes.” It was a whisper. 

“Snoke was...was making you change. And I couldn’t deal. Maybe...maybe I should have been stronger but - “ 

_“No.”_ The mere idea that Rey could blame herself was outrageous. Ben grabbed her hands without even thinking about it. “Rey, it wasn’t your fault. It was all _me. I_ chose to work for him.” 

“Yes.” Her eyes were clear and sharp, and now he couldn’t look _away_. “And you chose to stop.” 

The trap had closed so neatly around him that Ben couldn’t think of anything to say. Rey smiled, slow and small, and his heart lurched. 

“I didn’t want to leave, Ben. When I heard you’d quit the first thing I did was book a ticket home.” 

_Home._

Rey always had gone for what she wanted, straight as an arrow to the heart. 

Ben’s vision blurred again. No, he didn’t deserve her. He never had. 

But he couldn’t make his fingers open. He couldn’t let _go._

He drew her hands upwards instead, pressing his lips to her palms for the first time in so long, listening greedily to her shaky exhale. 

_“Stay.”_ The word was almost silent, mouthed against her skin. _“Please.”_

Rey’s breath hitched, and she tugged him closer, until her arms were around him instead and he could hide his face against her shoulder. 

Later Ben would apologize for the harm he’d done, kiss her wet eyes and soft mouth and confess how losing her had broken his heart (his fault, never hers, never); he would let her make him tea and then embrace her as she slept away her jet lag, watching her just to be sure she was real. There would be time for all of it. 

But for now all he could do was breathe; breathe and know she was there. 

The rising sun sent in a weak beam to warm his spine; Rey’s pulse was slow and steady against his lips. 

And everything was light. 

**Author's Note:**

> When Ben says he was abusive, he’s exaggerating somewhat, because all Skywalkers are total drama queens; but he was bad enough that Rey chose to leave for her own mental health. This is fiction. Be safe in real life. I have known at least one abuser who got therapy and stopped, but I’m afraid they’re a rarity...


End file.
